


Love? Disgusting. Give me all of it

by nik_nimmi



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Collge, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Self-Indulgent, Tsundere Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, also dont drink >:(, also lightbulb is referenced but its not named, also ty having breakdown, coz, doyoung is supposed to be a bio major but like it never gets brought up lol, except yeri everyone is just mentioned, i just love dotae okay, some guys tries hitting on dy and ty punches him, swearing beware kids, taeyong music major, this just fluff and dy swearing lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nik_nimmi/pseuds/nik_nimmi
Summary: Taeyong is currently sitting on the living room floor, crying his heart out, while there is suspicious red liquid all around him. There’s a few pieces of sausages not too far, and the man himself is holding a saucepan close to his chest as he rocks back and forth.What the fuck.“What happened?” He asks, once he realizes Taeyong’s starting to stifle his cries into his saucepan instead of facing him. He waits, patient, until his roommate peeks back at him.(Or, the four times Doyoung falls for Taeyong, and one where he finally confesses.)
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 16
Kudos: 187





	Love? Disgusting. Give me all of it

**Author's Note:**

> TW://  
> in the +1 there's some minor violence as a guy tries hitting on dy, so please be read with care in case it makes you uncomfortable/triggers you!!!
> 
> Also teen and up because there's swearing!

1.

“Can you keep it down? I can’t concentrate!”

Doyoung covers his ears for the nth time. Oh, if only he wasn’t a broke college student living on minimum wage, then he’d actually invest in some ear plugs. Whenever he asks Johnny to lend him some of his the older one just laughs at him.

He hates all his friends.

 _Why_ he agreed on rooming with Taeyong knowing the boy was a music major is beyond present-doyoung. Taeyong broke his headphones late week in the park when a dog ran into him (Doyoung doesn’t understand why he can’t keep the fucking thing in his _bag-_ ) and now his volume was maxed out for an oncoming project. Maybe he should just go to the library, seeing that they both had deadlines to meet.

He huffs, closing his book and packing his bag up. It’s always him who has to compromise, just for the sake of his grades. One exam after another, one essay after the other. It’s not like he can sleep in the mornings either, day filled with classes and then his part-time job at the mall. He really shouldn’t have chosen the 8AM lecture (fuck Johnny for not warning him about stupidly loud roommates hell bent on destroying his sleep schedule) and the earliest he’s allowed to switch is at the end of the semester.

Doyoung grabs a bottle of water from the open kitchen. He glances towards the other room, door shut yet the volume remained unaffected. It actually sounds pretty good, he’s not going to lie, but he has an exam to study for, and he can’t let his attention wander any more than it already has.

Letting out a sigh, Doyoung pulls on his shoes, and leaves for the library.

By the time he comes back, its well past midnight. The librarian had to shake him awake after he’d fallen asleep during a quick break, and as much as he regrets the precious time lost, he still ended up squeezing a decent amount of studying. Stifling a yawn, he opens the door, and it takes a second before he registers there’s no booming music anymore. It’s…surprising, usually, Taeyong would be up till the wee hours of the morning. He didn’t really know much about the other except that he worked at a pizza store nearby (courtesy of Jaehyun who introduced him to Taeyong in the first place) but other than that, they’ve hardly ever interacted.

So, when he toes of his shoes in favour of his soft slippers, he’s surprised to see a covered plate with a sticky note on top.

_I’m sorry for the sound, didn’t realize how loud it was._

_Here’s an apology, I hope you enjoy :D_

_(P.S. I asked Johnny, don’t be creeped_ _out)_

 _-taeyong_ (◕‿◕)♡

Doyoung would be lying if he said he wasn’t the least bit touched. He uncovered the plate to find some spaghetti with what seemed like garlic sauce. It was still mildly warm, but he microwaved it just in case. As he scarfed down the food (one of the best dishes he’s had in a _while_ ) he couldn’t help but keep getting drawn to the note. He didn’t think his roommate would actually notice, much less have the heart to apologise, but here he was.

(And when Taeyong lowers the volume the next day as soon as Doyoung goes back to his room, he pretends to ignore the warm feeling that spreads in his chest. There’s another plate of food and note ready on his desk, this one with a cute ‘ _Good luck studying_ (っ´ω`)ﾉ(╥ω╥)’, and he ignores the way his face immediately lights up.

If Doyoung can just ignore those fuzzy feelings, he can continue to pretend that he still despises his roommate.)

2.

If Doyoung was a better person, he might’ve done something else. He might’ve sat down next to Taeyong, taken his hand, given him a hug or at least patted him on the back. He would’ve immediately asked what’s wrong, or at least offered a few tissues.

Instead, he says, “What the fuck.”

Because Taeyong is currently sitting on the living room floor, crying his heart out, while there is suspicious red liquid all around him. There’s a few pieces of sausages not too far, and the man himself is holding a saucepan close to his chest as he rocks back and forth.

At the sound of Doyoung’s voice, he looks up, momentarily ceases crying (Doyoung would be impressed if he wasn’t so fucking terrified) and tells him ‘It’s not blood, don’t worry’ before he resumes.

Honestly, Doyoung thinks he needs a few moments to process this. He’s just had to complete an exhausting few hours of lab, since there was an emergency and it just happened to be under-staffed. A few students were called in, and after he’d finally rid himself of there, he’d gone straight to work because he was still piss poor and in need of extra cash.

And now, fate was testing him once again. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he lets out a deep exhale, completely unnoticed by Taeyong. Throwing both his bag and jacket on the sofa, he makes his way to kitchen counter, where he starts making coffee. With the harmony that is Taeyong’s sobbing, the beeping of the coffee machine (the ancient thing needed to alert every person in a five mile radius that indeed, it was being used) and his own roaring heartbeat, he sits in silence. After pouring himself a glass, he downs the thing, uncaring of the burning feeling that follows it down his throat. He’s so fucking done.

He grabs a bucket and a mop, cleaned up whatever the hell was on the floor (it smelled oddly similar to tomato paste, but he could be wrong, they put scent enhancers in all types of shit nowadays) all the while Taeyong calmed down to whimpers and sniffles, tears still on the roll. Picking up the sausages and discarding them, he changed out his clothes into pyjamas, and joined Taeyong on the floor.

“What happened?” He asks, once he realises Taeyong’s starting to stifle his cries into his saucepan instead of facing him. He waits, patient, until his roommate peeks back at him.

And while Doyoung was most definitely not is the best of moods to deal with something like this, he felt his heart break a little as he regarded Taeyong’s watery eyes and blotched face. The red flush was even more prominent on his nose, and it just made him look like a very sad kitten.

“I-I’m sorry,” he hiccupped out, finally lowering the forsaken saucepan on the ground. “Y-you had to clean e-everything and-and had to see me like _this_ , oh I-I’m so-“

“-Hey, it’s okay. Everyone has their bad days.” He gives him what he hopes is a comforting smile, “and you just so happened to have a moment in front of me. Cleaning was really tiring, I admit, but you take care of it on normal days anyway.”

Taeyong nods at his words, a few more tears dropping until they finally stop. He plays with his fingers a little bit, before speaking up again.

“I failed my assignment. It was like, 40% of my grade,” Taeyong’s voice is incredibly low, urging him to lean in closer as he goes on, “and then, I completely forgot to pick up my friend after his classes, he had to walk back home in the rain since they called off all buses.”

 _Oh,_ Doyoung thought, _that must’ve been horrendous._

The rain had been absolutely relentless in the past few weeks, the university buses becoming the least reliable mode of transport. Doyoung had taken to carrying an umbrella since he didn’t live too far, but for those who did it was a whole nightmare to get back without having any form of shield against the downpour.

“And h-he said it was fine, but-I could tell he was hurt, So I thought, why not make his favourite dish for lunch tomorrow, and then my fingers slipped and all the sauce fell on the floor, and I was just so _tired,_ Doyoung I couldn’t even bother to clean it up. I-“ Taeyong looks at him, suddenly the most vulnerable he’s ever seen him being . His voice cracks near the end, as he says, “I’m just so tired, y’know? I’m just tired.”

And Doyoung, well, there’s never a sentiment he’s related to more. Before Taeyong can say anything else, he pulls his roommate in for a hug, squeezing him as tightly as he can. Whatever words were to be spoken next die away, as Taeyong hugs him back, much gentler than him.

They stay like that, for a few seconds. _This is nice,_ he thinks, as he breathes in whatever remained of Taeyong’s cologne, now mingling with the scent of tomatoes, _this is really nice._

It’s been so long, since he’s last hugged anybody. Even though he barely knows the other, there’s an odd comfort that surrounds him, and he hopes Taeyong feels the same.

(Later, when they both end up cooking instant noodles for dinner together, Taeyongs whispers a soft ‘t _hank you’_. Later, when they decide to do dishes together, Doyoung whispers back a soft ‘ _anytime.’_

Later, when they both end up heading to bed, Doyoung lets himself remember the feeling of Taeyong’s warmth one last time, before he finally drifts off to sleep.)

3.

“Maybe, I should just drop out?”

Taeyong looks terrified, as he regards the year’s theme for the festival. He, along with a few others, was asked to co-ordinate with the dance and theatre department for the upcoming performances.

“Oh, come one,” Doyoung shoves him, “you’re going to be _fine._ ” Taeyong pouts at him instead, and he can’t help the laughter that bubbles out after. It was so ridiculous, to see _the_ Lee Taeyong people practically worshipped on campus to be reduced to a mess of nerves in front of the words ‘ _Feel the love’_. It’s one of the cheesiest and clichéd themes he’s ever seen, and with the plethora of love songs out there, Doyoung couldn’t imagine how making one would be so hard anyway. Granted, he had never composed a single piece of music in his life, but he had full confidence Taeyong was worried for nothing considering he was literally appointed as the leader for the project.

”Stop laughing, this is serious!” And indeed it was, for his roommates eyes grew wider than Doyoung thought they could’ve. Taeyong was just so cute sometimes; he couldn’t resist pinching the elder’s cheeks.

“Tae,” he said, finally, “all jokes aside, you can do this. If there was anyone I could put my entire faith in yet still end up impressed, it would be you,” his smile had grown fonder, sincerity replacing the previous traces of mischief. He’s a little shocked at himself for even saying that, because Doyoung hates talking about feelings with a burning passion, and it seems Taeyong’s thinking the same. A few seconds pass, and the look shared between them turns more awkward as the silence stretches.

“Thank you,” Taeyong says, “I-uh, should get started, then?” rubbing a hand against his neck, he offers a sheepish smile.

*

And then, it starts once more.

The nights are once again filled with music, but now that Doyoung’s classes are over for the break, he no longer minds. He occasionally finds himself humming along too, while finishing up his share of chores, or even at the shop whenever he can grab a few seconds to himself.

Taeyong’s nights morph into day quite easily, and it makes him a little worried. They’ve gotten a lot closer since Taeyong’s breakdown in the living room, but it still makes him feel a little weird to enter his room out of the blue. Doyoung has always had the tendency to worry a little too much at times (or at least that’s what his friends think) and he doesn’t want to come off as overbearing or needy, especially when they’ve just started to tread the realm of friendship.

So when Doyoung leaves for his evening shift, he tries not to think about the music still coming from Taeyong’s room. So when Doyoung serves coffee after coffee, legs growing tired as the hours pass by, he tries not to think much about the fact Taeyong hasn’t messaged him even once. And so when Doyoung comes back, a little past midnight (courtesy of Donghyuck and his knack of finding cheap restaurants), he tries to push away the bubble of worry he feels rise up when the music is still louder than ever.

 _He must’ve taken a break in the middle,_ he assures himself. _He probably just_ _started again a while ago; he probably did eat something, didn’t he? And it’s not like he_ has _to message him every single day, that’s just ridiculous and he’s only being para-_

“Taeyong?” He whispers, cracking open the door of his room, “I brought you some takeout-Tae?”

There’s a knot that starts to tie itself in the pits of his stomach, as he approaches the other’s desk. Taeyong slumped over; face nestled in the crook of his arms. Doyoung fumbles a little, before finally figuring out the pause button and switching the damn thing off for a while (of course not without saving it first). He tries to shake him awake, but Taeyong merely grumbles before changing positions again. Doyoung can see marks left on the side of his face, along with a little dribble of drool, and he sighs in relief that his roommate hadn’t fucking _died._

“Hey,” he tries again, “Tae, did you eat something?”

It takes a while, but eventually Taeyong is blinking owlishly at him. He’s a little slow to get his bearings, but when he finally does, he whispers a small ‘no’. Doyoung resists the urge of either hitting himself because he was right, or hitting Taeyong for not caring for himself.

“I swear,” he mumbles, taking out the food and dragging Taeyong to the living room with him, “even kids aren’t as bad as you. Heck, my cousin’s in high school and even _he_ knows there’s no point in skipping meals anymore.”

Taeyong listens, not once retaliating any of Doyoung’s nagging during the entire impromptu dinner. It’s also an incredibly frustrating affair, since he’s attempting to be stern so Taeyong can take him seriously for once. And as much as he’s annoyed, he _still_ finds him cute. He finds the way Taeyong keeps his own pair of frog themed chopsticks cute, because a random kid once gave it to him. He finds the fact that Taeyong still looks a little drowsy, occasionally rubbing his eyes to rub the sleep away, cute. And, to his utter dismay, he even finds himself thinking Taeyong’s tattered t-shirt that has definitely seen better days, _cute._

 _Disgusting,_ he tells himself, _absolutely disgusting._

But even with _that_ constant chant in his head, when Taeyong finally retreats to his room, he can’t help but nag the other a little more. To eat on time, drink enough water, get enough sunlight (the man was starting to get seriously pale), and all the good stuff his mother used to drill into him back when he was still in school.

Taeyong yawns, leaning against his doorframe. Their rooms are exactly opposite each other, and with Taeyong still looking at him, he finds a little hard to just turn around and close his door. It’s not...awkward, but it makes him feel a little queasy. Just as he’s about to offer a ‘goodnight’ and make his way to bed, Taeyong calls his name.

“Thank you,” he says, and combined with his soft smile, Doyoung can feel his heart melt, _just a little._ He’s used to Johnny’s rough pats on his back, used to Donghyuck’s obnoxious (but still welcomed) high pitch voice as he thanks him for the food.

But he’s not used to this.

Taeyong’s soft smile, eyes fond as he looks at him. He’s not used to the silences; which seem capable of doing so much more than words ever could.

So, in true Doyoung fashion, he stutters out a ‘no problem haha’, sends him finger guns and just as he’s about to slam his door close and die of mortification, a thought strikes him.

“I listened to a bit of your song, you know.”

“Oh, uh…was it…good?”

“Oh yeah, really good, just. Taeyong?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you need God.”

And he slams his door shut.

4.

Doyoung is late.

He knows he’s late, the dorm lady knows he’s late, and even the bus driver and his resident cat knows he’s late. He’s never been more thankful to his parents for pushing him into track and field when he was younger, because that training is the only thing that’s propelling him forward at this point.

Today was the day. From the three day shows put on by the Arts Facility, Taeyong’s group happened to be working on the last day. Which was also the day after one of Doyoung’s papers-meaning he had slept through all his alarms out of exhaustion.

Taeyong had told him just last week he didn’t have to come if he was busy, to prioritise his rest before the showcase. “I can just play it for you later,” he’d said, neck tinting red-though Doyoung doesn’t know if it’s embarrassment, a hot shower or something else that caused it.

But Doyoung had always been stubborn as fuck, so he’s going to make it even if he collapses on the way.

(And maybe the sight of Taeyong shyly asking him a few months ago to ‘to come if he could find time’ is a memory that has been permanently burned in his mind and sent his heart into overdrive).

He makes it in the nick of time, huffing and on the verge of death by the time he trudges towards the first good seat he can find. It’s much fuller than the first day (curse Johnny and his theatre friends for dragging him a day before his deadline) and he thinks it might have to do with four departments participating instead of the usual two per day.

The lights dim, and soon, walks on stage ‘Kim Yerim’, second year event management student. She goes through the introductions smoothly, even eliciting a few laughs before the first performance begins. It starts out with the Vocal majors, and by the time they’re done Doyoung has already been rendered speechless. He enjoys the showcase much more than he’d initially thought he would. Doyoung even finds himself clapping in admiration after some of them, breath stolen away by the talents displayed on the stage. The students seem to be giving their absolute all, and looking at the top seats, he understands why.

They’re filled with recruiters, from different agencies, companies and investors looking for talent to bag and market. If someone could land an offer, well, they were set for life after college. He’s heard of the gruesome audition process, and he shivers just thinking about the uncertainty these kids have to face each time they step on stage. Will anyone be watching? Will anyone be listening? Will they make it?

It’s all very dramatic and inspiring and makes Doyoung want to work harder on his own classes, to make it and make his parents proud.

It’s in the middle of this, that the next bunches of performers’ names are called out. He recognises a few of them, the ones who were collaborating with Taeyong’s group for an original track for the performance. Not only was this an opportunity for them, it was a chance for the teams to even get offers for compositions and lyrics, and the urge for it to all go well has him chewing his lips. Time goes in a blur, one dance melting into another, when finally, Ten steps on stage.

It’s not really surprising, but it is definitely worth something to note, for the moment the boy steps on the stage, the entire theatre goes silent. Doyoung himself is somewhat of a fan, occasionally coming across his covers on YouTube. What makes it nerve-wracking, though, is that this is the track Taeyong had been the main composer for. Hours of stress, fatigue and frustration, it was here. Ten was dancing with a partner, someone from a neighbouring university (Sicheng, was it?) known for its classical training. They get into position, lights dimming, and the first notes of the song starts.

And Taeyong is _rapping._

The shock of it is enough to cause him to miss little of the beginning. Ten and Sicheng are enchanting, as they move along to the beats, to the lyrics. The words are hurtful in their harshness, raw and filtered about the struggles in a relationship-

-and then _Doyoung’s voice comes in._

This time, he is truly and utterly fucked. _What the fuck,_ is all that comes to mind, as the voices fade from his to someone else’s and then again another rapper’s. His heart is twisting, painfully against his chest. He doesn’t know whether to be angry, confused, sad or elated. He doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to process so many things at once; as Ten rips himself away from Sicheng’s hold, he feels the anguish all the way to his seat, and he can’t even see their faces for fuck’s sake.

 _That little shit,_ he thinks, _that sly piece of shit._

The song itself is gorgeous, but he’s invested on an emotional level to even judge its quality. All he can feel is the music, letting it wash over him, the dance, as it breaks his heart bit by bit. He doesn’t even realise he’s crying, until the music stops, until the light dims, and he realises there’s not a single thing to be heard. He expects the worst as he tries to look around, but to his relief, all there remains is hints of awe and anguish.

 _Well, at least I’m not the only one,_ he thinks, rubbing away the tears. His vision is blurred, as he gets up, not even waiting for the rest of the performances, not even waiting to hear the slight shake in Yerim’s voice as she compliments the two for their incredible work.

There was only one thing on his mind. Or, only one _person._

He pushes through backstage, falling deaf to the protests of the security. He still can’t stop the string of tears that fall one after the other, and when he reaches the room at the end of the hallway, no one dares to even stop him anymore. Doyoung opens the door, suddenly extremely aware of what he’s doing. He searches for him, but all Doyoung sees are unfamiliar faces, the lighting low and the end wall covered with what he thinks is a bunch of music equipment and screens for monitoring.

He’s about to apologise and leave, feeling incredibly stupid, when someone grabs hold of his wrist.

“Doyoung?” and his _voice,_ it’s full of concern as he regards him. “Doyoung are you ok-wait, did you watch the stage?”

And he wants to laugh at the genuinely scared expression Taeyong’s face holds. He wants to punch him, kick him, let out a barrage of insults for the trickery. But all that comes out is a choked whisper, as he throws his arm around him, vulnerability starting to creep into him.

“You son of a bitch,” he says, voice muffled by Taeyong’s sweater. “Demo, huh? ‘Just testing it out’, huh?”

And Taeyong, he has the audacity to _chuckle._ Doyoung would punch him if he wasn’t so drained. His mind finally accepts defeat and shuts down then, when Taeyong hugs him back, hands tightening around his waist. “You wouldn’t have agreed, and you know it,” he says, in lieu of excuse, “it ended up fitting-so, so I just-I just used it. Didn’t think you’d _cry_ though.”

Later that evening, Taeyong treats him to food, an apology of sorts (and after his persistence, even agrees to introduce him to Ten and Sicheg). Doyoung is still pissed, but it’s been numbed from the overwhelming fondness that grows as he watches Taeyong fumble and (fail to) explain what one of his more risqué sounding songs had meant.

(“ _Is that okay? I’ve never really sung a demo or guide before.”_

“ _It’s perfect, actually. This song we’re using, it’s actually something I made a couple years back.”_

_“Oh wow, what stopped you from using it?”_

_“It’s really personal to me. I guess, I was just waiting for the right people.”_

_“They must be really special, then.”_

_Taeyong looks at him, for a moment, his gaze heavy with something Doyoung can’t decipher._

_“Yeah,” he answers eventually, “they are.”)_

+1

He regrets all his life choices.

The music is blasting out the speakers, there are people ( _so many people, oh so many people_ ) and it reeks of cheap cologne, alcohol and sweat. Doyoung really should’ve known better than to agree to going to one of the off-campus parties. They’re always so unhygienic, at least one fight always breaks out, and he always end up losing track of his friends.

That’s why; he stands in the corner of a room, a little lost but too timid to actually ask someone anything. He would sit on the bean bags, but there’s some suspicious liquid on them, and while it might just be water, he doesn’t want to push his luck tonight. It’s actually not that bad, he supposes, he gets to people watch without coming off as creepy, and considering this was a room full of dunk stressed college students, it was bound to be entertaining.

There’s a girl near the snacks, munching on bar after bar of chocolate. Doyoung is fascinated, for she not once manages to get any on her face or clothes despite how fast she’s chucking them in her mouth. There’s this boy near the middle, who Doyoung thinks has never danced in his life, because all he does is the floss (he’s been watching him for seven minutes to see if it ever changes, and no, he is still doing that revolting move). A few people seem to be competing for who can catch the most red solo cups with their feet, and suddenly all of them fall to the floor. Doyoung is intrigued, leaning forward as he watches them inspect their friend’s feet to verify a fo-

“Hey.”

Doyoung’s tempted to tell the person to shut up, but he still has some self-control left, so instead he turns to face them. He seems oddly familiar, was it from one of his classes? Or maybe he’d seen him at w-

“I-uh, you don’t know me, but I know you.”

_Ominous. Very ominous._

“I mean! Like I come to the café you work at. I-I’ve seen you there, and saw you were alone here so-uh. Wanna’-maybe-dance? My name’s Ian, by the way.”

Doyoung watches him carefully. He’s not that bad, actually decently dressed. He’s not drunk either, he observes, or maybe was just good at hiding it. But tonight, Doyoung was in no mood for even interacting with another human being, let alone _dancing._

“Sorry Ian, but I don’t really feel like it.”

And with that, he goes back to watching the foot competition. It should’ve ended there, but the man moves in front of him, effectively blocking him. “Hey,” he starts, extremely frustrated to be interrupted for the second time in a row, “can y-‘

“Is it because you already have someone?”

Now, Doyoung’s confused. “What? No, I just don’t want to dance.” He really wishes Ian could drop it, but he continues to press for more. “Why, though? At least give me a reason.”

_The fuck? Okay, this was happening._

“Look, I already gave you one. I don’t _want_ to. And it’s not about you, I’m just not feeling it,” he makes to move forward, but Ian pushes him back. “Don’t lie,” he grits out, and Doyoung’s starting to get a really bad feeling about this, “you like him, don’t you? That Taeyong guy? I saw the way you talk about him at work, as if he hung the fucking stars when he’s just another one of those self-absorbed jerk-“

“Okay hold the fuck up,” he can feel his anger rising, “you _what?_ Eavesdropping on my conversations? Really?” Doyoung shoves him, though it doesn’t do much since he’s a lot more ripped than he’d guessed, “ And even if I was, what is it to you? I’m not obligated to dance or even talk to you. Drop the fucking entitlement and get out my way.”

Just as he pushes him and moves forward, Ian grabs his wrist and shoves him against the wall, _hard._ He hits the back of his head with a slam. His ears are ringing as he regains his bearing, now painfully aware of Ian’s hold on his wrist to the point they _burn,_ and Doyoung is starting to feel more and more helpless by the second.

“Listen here, I’m not asking for much. Just one dance, the least you could’ve done is said yes and gone your way afterwards,” he tighten his hold on Doyoung’s wrist, drawing out a whimper, “But no, you have to play hard to get, you b-”

“Back the fuck _off.”_

One moment, Ian is twisting his wrists and pressing him against the wall, and the next he’s on the floor clutching his face in pain. Doyoung’s too shaken to notice what happens next, and before he knows it he’s crying. There’s trembles raking through his body, as if his mind still can’t process that _actually_ happened, or worse, what _could’ve_ happened. He’s feeling overwhelmed, not a single sound escaping him as brings his hands against his chest.

Someone’s speaking to him, but he can barely hear the words over the roaring of his own heartbeat. He’s being pulled away, gently, towards the staircase. His body has gone on auto-pilot, only realising that _Taeyong_ is the one with him once they settle in an empty bedroom. He feels weird, as though he were invading a private area instead of realising they probably left the room open on purpose. He shuffles towards the desk instead, perching himself on the edge as he calms down.

He’s too embarrassed to even face Taeyong, because he’s a grown adult dammit, he should be able to defend himself. His mind starts to spiral, one self deprecating though after the other, and oh no, there’s another tear-

He feels Taeyong wipe them away with the pads of his fingers. After a little urging, Doyoung looks up to meet his eyes, finding them to be brimming with concern. They don’t say anything, indulging in each other’s presence. Taeyong takes his hands from his lap, where he’s been fisting them tightly. Doyoung watches him, as he traces the marks left by Ian’s grip. If he didn’t know any better, he can almost see Taeyong seethe, eyes hardening and lips set in a firm line.

“I’m fine now-“

“-I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause, then: “Tae, why are _you_ apologising?”

“This happened because of me, didn’t it? That guy was screaming stuff when the others dragged him outside. I’m sorry I wasn’t there in time, I should’ve been with you-“

“Woah, woah. If anything, it’s that jerk’s fault for not taking a hint. I don’t blame you, okay? I’m just a little upset I couldn’t fight back, that’s all,” Doyoung tries for a smile, but Taeyong furrows his brows at him. “Of course you couldn’t, you got hurt on the _head._ And don’t you go blaming yourself either, what the fuck. This is all on him.”

There’s a pause, before they both break out into laughter. “He really was a bitch, huh?” Taeyong nods, recounting how Johnny threw the scum out in the yard when he’d tried fighting back. They keep bouncing insults off one another, each trying to come up with something worse to call the man (‘As a fellow man, I am insulted’ ‘we’re both men, Taeyong’) until they eventually quiet down.

“The feet thing does sound interesting,” Taeyong says, giddier by the second (his uncanny ability to swing from one mood to the other was both terrifying and impressive). “Next time, I’ll come with you,” he plays with Doyoung’s fingers, voice awfully soft as he goes on, “I’ll stick to you like glue, fend off any suitors that come to disturb you.”

Doyoung whistled, “suitors, huh? That’s a pretty fancy name for sex starved seniors.” Taeyong hits him. “Don’t be like that. You’ve got plenty of people that love you, you know.” Doyoung scoffs, but it comes out weaker than he’d intended. Taeyong was a little too sincere sometimes, and it made ignoring his feeling all the more harder.

“Taeyong,” he says, “can you-can you not talk about it?”

It being a giddy Taeyong spilling his feelings to Doyoung, which somehow included the plan that they would stick together until they ended up in the same nursing home once they were old and wrinkly. It was meant as a joke, but it struck something inside of him. The more he tried to brush it off, the more it kept clinging on to him like a parasite; because a small part of him _didn’t_ want it to be a joke.

Because that small part was unreasonable. It told him of feelings he didn’t want to acknowledge having, futures he didn’t want to hope for but desperately wanted. Doyoung couldn’t- _shouldn’t_ be like this. He has his studies to focus on, then after graduation a job, then another degree so he could get an even better job. He has to focus on his goals, on his family and career, and he couldn’t risk getting involved in something he had never dared to even ponder upon. Doyoung has always been sensitive to the matters of the heart, and he didn’t want to be wounded, not when he didn’t know how long it would take to get over. _If_ he would get over it.

So when Taeyong asks him, confused, as to why, Doyoung’s brain to mouth filter shuts down. “Because you can’t keep doing this to me.”

Taeyong looks genuinely puzzled, and even a slight bit guilty. “I’m…not sure I get what you mean, Doie.”

“That,” and it starts to bubble over, the nickname befuddling the butterflies in his stomach, “that. You need to stop, Taeyong. I can’t-I can’t move on if you keep saying things like that.” He pulls his hands away, continuing, “those words that you tell me so easily, they _hurt_ me, Taeyong. Because-because I know they’re not true, at least not in the way I want them to be.”

Taeyong opens his mouth to speak, but Doyoung interrupts him before he gets the chance. “No, _listen_ to me. You can’t keep playing with me like this, especially when you act so oblivious. You leave these sticky notes around the house, you pack me lunch on the days you can. You show me that I’m somehow special, yet you never talk about it ever again. I want to be with you, Taeyong,” Doyoung says, voice dripping with pain, “I would love to be with you, but not like that. I want us to be to be together, I want us to go to the same nursing home, to bicker and fight and play stupid puzzle games we found from a list of worst games on the internet. I want us to do all of that and more but not as friends, Taeyong. I…” he stops, a little breathless. The words are painful to accept, even harder to say out loud, but he had come far, much farther than he’d ever planned, and Doyoung wasn’t going to back down now. “I…I love you, Taeyong. I'm in _love_ with you.”

And there it is, the silence. He closes his eyes, readying his heart for the oncoming rejection.

Except, it never comes. Doyoung is starting to get concerned, ready to tell him he didn’t have to rec-

Taeyong grabs his jaw, and brings their lips together.

_No way. No fucking way._

Taeyong was kissing him. _The_ Lee Taeyong was kissing _him_. Doyoung is so dumbstruck by this new development he stays still throughout the entire kiss, Taeyong pulling back with ears a flaming red.

Doyoung doesn’t think he’s any better.

“I-I’m sorry I should’ve asked first.” Doyoung can only stare in shock as Taeyong fumbles, stumbling over words and wringing his hands together as though he were a fourth grader ready to give their first class presentation. “I just-you really mean what you said?” Doyoung nods, still mute from disbelief. “Doyoung, I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this. I just though there would be no chance, you know? You were always so bright, so ambitious I had just come to terms that it would never happen. I’ve liked you since the day Jaehyun introduced us, the way you were so quick to reply, so ready to listen and actually care about what others had to say.” Taeyong pauses, taking a breath to steady himself, “what I’m trying to say is: Kim Doyoung, I love you. I have since the day you comforted me on the living room floor. I fall for you, every morning, when you’re all grumpy without coffee in your system, when you rant about your employees after your shifts, when you message me tidbits about your day. I fall harder and harder, even if I had lost all hope that we would ever become something _more._ And I-I want nothing more, Doyoung, to spend my days with you, if you-if you would let me.”

 _Fuck Taeyong, and his perfect words,_ Doyoung thinks, too overwhelmed with so much information dumped on him. Taeyong liked him-no, _loved_ him, even. It was so much to process, to realise, his heart felt like it would explode out of his chest. It thundered beneath his ribcage, each word another dose of nicotine, getting him addicted to the idea that was _this,_ that was-would be, _them._

Doyoung was in _love._ And Taeyong loved him _back._

“Kiss me,” he whispers, “kiss me again.”

And Taeyong obliges without a word. He could barely believe it, cherishing the way they fit against each other so well, his own hands finding place in the other's hair, Taeyong’s on his waist. Time ceases to exist, for his mind is only filled with thoughts of the man in front of him, of his sweet words and kind eyes, of the gentleness he handles him with. Doyoung melts, he melts and lets himself be cared for, lets him take the lead because he loves the way Taeyong treats him. As though he was made of glass and not flesh and muscle, not fast or rushed. They had forever in front of them, he thought, pulling Taeyong closer, forever of this, of a future hopefully filled with just as much love-if not more-and a life set laid out for them.

“I love you,” Taeyong whispered again, “I love you _so_ much.”

And Doyoung could only repeat the words, already a goner. Fear still lingered at the edge of his mind, of the ‘what if’s, of the possibilities of things that could wrong. But as they broke apart, heads still pressed close together, laughter at the seams of their lips, Doyoung pushed them all away.

They would make it work.

They would have to. Because he had so much to give, and he knew Taeyong would take all of it without an ounce of hesitation, Because they had always made it work, and Doyoung was convinced this time would be no exception. Love is a myriad of different emotions and feelings, and he was ready to experience each one of them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is so much ;;;;--;;; my hands hurt from typing. This was extremely self-indulgent because i adore dotae to the moon and back lol. There's probably some plot holes but i honestly don't care I'm just happy to write them. The song tenwin dance to is lightbulb, and just in case i was kinda ambigious, ty asks dy to record a demo/guide, but he'd been planning to use it since the beginning for the final song. 
> 
> Dy cries because theme is 'feel the love', and he realises that love can feel just as ugly as it could feel good/happy (and also because tenwin fucking deliver) but yeah. 
> 
> Hope you liked it, please leave a comment/kudos if you did! Means a lot!


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